


and i know when that hotline bling (that can only mean one thing)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Name Change, Tumblr Prompt, emoji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She walks into his office, finds him awkwardly holding his phone in one hand, trying to tap out a message with his thumb, and it dawns on her.</p><p>"Coulson," she says, "do you need a smaller phone?"</p><p>"You can't hold them one-handed anymore," he agrees, frowning at the screen. "Since when are phones big enough that you can't type one-handed?"</p><p>(They fall into a habit of talking on the phone late at night, nothing serious, just quiet conversations, and Skye loves it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i know when that hotline bling (that can only mean one thing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shortitude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/gifts).



Skye's not doing it on purpose. She's just really  _used_ to texting, and it doesn't even occur to her that it might not be the most accessible form of communication for Coulson, anymore. She wonders why he takes so long to reply, these days, sighs at the delay and resists texting him strings of emoji until she gets a return message, frowns at the typos and weird autocorrects in his texts. He used to type perfectly. 

 

_< Skye>: hey AC we're out of donuts, can you pick up some more on your way home_

_< Skye>: also where the heck is May_

_< AC>: Sorry that's classifeiwd_

_< AC>: classified_

_< Skye>: okay fine but donuts, Coulson, I'm in mourning, I deserve donuts  __ __ ___

_< AC>: [AC is typing a message...]_

_< AC>: [AC is typing a message...]_

_< Skye>: ..._

_< Skye>: jesus christ AC are you carving the words into a stone tablet and having them flown over here or what_

_< AC>: Sorry do you want powdered or jelly?_

 

When she realizes, she feels awful. She walks into his office, finds him awkwardly holding his phone in one hand, trying to tap out a message with his thumb, and it dawns on her.

"Coulson," she says, "do you need a smaller phone?"

"You can't hold them one-handed anymore," he agrees, frowning at the screen. "Since when are phones big enough that you can't type one-handed?"

"You can blame Apple," she offers. "And millennials."

"I hear I can blame millennials for most things," he says darkly, puts his phone away in his pocket. "What do you need, Skye?"

"Just your signature on this," she says, hands over the TAHITI protocol approval form, watches him evaluatively as he fumbles with the pen. "Thanks, Coulson," she tells him, thinks  _next time, I'll call you_.

 

She forgets, of course, sends him a stupid text from her bunk and then follows it up with a snarky text about how long he's taking to reply and then jumps out of bed, runs down the hall and slides breathless into his office.

"Sorry," she says, "sorry, Coulson, don't worry, I forgot, I'm an asshole, I know it's-  _hard_ , with the, uh..."

"Skye," Coulson says patiently, "it's fine. It's an armless mistake." She stares at him for a long moment, takes in the soft button-down, the jeans. His collar's unbuttoned. It distracts her entirely from the terrible pun he's just made.

"You're not in a suit," she observes, tilts her head to the side. "You're not... no tie."

"I'm still more dressed than you," he points out, and she blushes, fiddles with the tatty cuffs of her sweatshirt.

"Hey," she argues, "Andrew says I'm still in my grieving period, I get leeway on wearing sweats around the base."

"Sure," Coulson agrees, "and I get leeway on wearing jeans and no tie when I've only got one hand, right?"

"Yeah," she says, "yeah, and on sending text messages, I'm really sorry."

 

The next time, she does remember to call instead, and when he answers, he sounds surprised.

"Skye? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just... I just wanted to talk," she admits. "Remember how I used to text you?"

"I do," Coulson agrees, sounding soft. "I remember getting texts like 'hey AC did you know that Fitz is a jerk who talks down to me in the lab, what's that about', while I was in the middle of inter-governmental liaison meetings."

"You loved it," Skye says, and Coulson makes a noise that could be a sigh or a huff of laughter. "Anyway, I just... it's nice to hear your voice. Since you're off base right now, and my SO went on vacation and didn't come back."

"You like hearing my voice?" Coulson asks, and Skye rolls her eyes, because this guy, seriously.

"Yeah, Phil, I like hearing your voice," she replies, waits for him to correct her, and it's a correction that doesn't happen. Huh, she thinks, this is new.

 

They fall into a habit of talking on the phone late at night, nothing serious, just quiet conversations about their missions, the progress of Coulson's prosthetic, whether Skye can get a puppy.

"Come on," she argues, "it'd be great for team morale."

"Would you take it for walks?" 

"You know that I would. I'm very responsible."

"Sure," Coulson says, warm and amused, "responsible is the first word I associate with you, Skye." The way he says her name makes her smile, curl a little more into her blankets.

"That sounds like a _total lie_ , Phil, and now I want to know what  _is_ the first word you associate with me _._ "

"I..." Coulson says, trails off, clears his throat. "Hmmm. I, uh-" Skye laughs, takes pity on him.

"Phil," she tells him, soft and teasing, "quit while you're ahead."

"Thank you," he says, relieved, and she laughs again, quiet in the night.

 

"I can't sleep," she admits to him later, twists a strand of hair idly around her finger.

"No, I can't either," he tells her. "It still  _hurts_ , Skye, it's ridiculous."

"Yeah," she agrees. "It hurts. My mom tried to _kill_ me, and my dad is a veterinarian who doesn't know my face, and it still hurts."

"Are you talking to Andrew?" he asks, and Skye bites her lip, grips her cellphone a little harder.

"No," she says quietly. "Are you?"

"No," he says, and there's a moment of silence, the phone line buzzing between them.

"I'm thinking of changing my name," she says, and it's almost a relief to tell someone. She's been thinking about it for months. 'Skye' is wonderful, Skye is a name she chose for herself, Skye is freedom from the orphanage and making her own place in the world and the way Coulson breathes it, soft, as if it means everything, but she knows her family, now, and if nothing else, she's got what they gave her. 

"Daisy?"

"Yeah. I- would that be okay?"

"It's your name, Skye, you can be anything you want," he says, and she smiles.

"Say it again?" she asks, and he laughs a little.

"Daisy," he whispers, and yeah, she thinks, he can still say her name as if it means everything to him. Maybe he can do that for her no matter what her name is.

 

"Did you know there are swipe-to-text predictive apps?" he asks one night, and Daisy pauses.

"Yeah, I... yeah, they exist, why?"

"Makes texting one-handed a whole lot easier," Coulson says, and Daisy closes her eyes for a moment, because of course it does, of  _course_ it does.

"Sorry," she says, "Sorry, Phil, I totally forgot about them, I should have-"

"Hey," Coulson interrupts. "It's fine. I'll be getting my new hand sorted soon. I don't text that much anyway, right, and this is better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Skye, talking to you is a lot better than getting snarky texts," he sighs, and even though it's the wrong name, it makes her smile.

He texts her, afterwards, and she knows he's realized his mistake, because there's no message, just a string of emoji.

 _< AC>: _   

 

They're thick in missions now, working with the ATCU, and Daisy hates it, hates all of it, the spread of the Terrigen and the way Price's team looks at her and Coulson's stupid professional desperate face, but she hates most of all that she and Coulson don't have their late night conversations anymore. She's too exhausted, he's too busy, and they haven't called each other in weeks. It's stupid. She should just call him.

_< Daisy Johnson>: _ _are you in the middle of an inter-governmental liaison meeting or can I call_

_< AC>: you should call even if I am, pretend it's an emergency so I can leave_

_< Daisy Johnson>: so bad, Phil_

_< AC>: bad to the bone_

_< Daisy Johnson>: omg_

"I'm serious," Coulson says when she picks up. "You should call."

"I didn't... want to interrupt," Daisy says. She's not being sulky or pointed; she just feels oddly shy. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

" _Daisy_ ," Phil breathes, and she feels her heart beat faster at the way he says it.

"Yeah, Phil, now come say it to my face," she tells him, feeling stupid and brave and determined, and Coulson laughs.

"One moment, caller," he says, and she hears a door open, hears footsteps as if he's walking, and then there's a knock at her bunk door. Coulson's standing in her doorway, his phone still held to his ear, and she smiles up at him.

"I've got to go," she says into her phone, "there's someone at my door and I've been thinking about kissing them for months," and then she hangs up the phone, grabs him by the shirt, drags him in. "Talking to you on the phone late at night is great," she murmurs against his mouth. "Do you know what's better?"

"Yeah," Phil agrees, slides his fingers into her hair, presses open-mouthed kisses down her throat. "Yeah, Daisy, I've got an idea."

 

_< Daisy Johnson>: hey Phil this mission is so bad, did you know the ATCU won't even let me eat candy on their quinjet_

_< Phil Coulson>: That's terrible, Dairy, my heart bleeds for you_

_< Phil Coulson>: DAISY_

_< Phil Coulson>: Sorry_

_< Daisy Johnson>: that's the fiftieth time you've gotten it wrong, Phil, buy me some twizzlers to make up for it_

_< Phil Coulson>: this time it wasn't me, it was genuinely autocorrect_

_< Daisy Johnson>: oh did I say fiftieth, I meant five thousandth_

_< Phil Coulson>: fuck_

_< Phil Coulson>:  _

_< Daisy Johnson>: _

_< Phil Coulson>:    ___

_< Daisy Johnson>: okay Phil_

_< Daisy Johnson>: i love you too_

_< Phil Coulson>: do good on your mission _

_< Daisy Johnson>: yeah, Phil, I will  _ ____

**Author's Note:**

> shortitude, on tumblr: "since i know you're comfortable exploring this ship as a very socialnetwork savvy couple, imagine the first times skye (still skye) texts him after his hand is gone. then charges into his office all worried I'M SORRY I FORGOT and phil keeps making light jokes about it. plus someone says it's a armless mistake"
> 
> me: *thinks about it*  
> me: *thinks about it some more*  
> me: *suddenly obsessed with hotline bling*  
> me: *flings this fic into being*


End file.
